On the Grind (2009) (22 page)

"We're rushing this," I said. "If I'm on patrol, I can't show up in civvies."

"It's covered. I got both your uniforms out of your lockers. They're stashed in the black-and-white. You two change into your Class C's when we meet up with Roulon. After you do the job, you call dispatch and ask for backup. Horace and I will roger the call and the three of us will lock down the crime scene and hold it for Captain Jones, who will handle the one-eighty-seven investigation."

"I'm going with Scully," Horace interjected.

"No, you're not," I replied.

"I'm going with you," Horace reiterated. "Get used to the idea. Fin gonna be there to make sure you do what you're supposed to."

I'm
not taking a fucking observer," I said li
gh
tl
y
. Our voices were now rising in anger.

"Calm down, both of you," Alonzo ordered. Then he glanced over at me. "He's right. We agreed, since there's 110 poly, we're stuck in this together. If Horace wants to back von up, what's the big problem?"

"The problem is
I
don't want him. I don't like him."

"I told you Scully was dirty," Horace challenged. "He doesn't want me there 'cause he's not gonna do it. I keep telling you he's our rat."

"Velario s going with you," Alonzo snapped. As far as he was concerned, the subject was closed. I let it drop.

Alonzo continued to follow the black 220 across the bridge into Fleetwood. After going about a mile, Rocky made a left, passed three intersections, and then pulled up to a building on the corner. It was a big boxy apartment with the architectural significance of a parking garage in Watts. A sign on the roof identified it as the Garden Apartments. I could see 110 gardens, just a strip of dead grass out front.

Rocky turned his 220 into the underground garage using a security card, which opened the sliding gate. Then the little Mercedes sedan disappeared down the ramp, flaring red from its taillights.

Alonzo continued past the apartment complex and hung a U-turn in the middle of the street that went north. He triggered a hand rover as lie drove. "R
. G
., we'll meet you on the seven hundred block of Walnut Street."

I heard two static squelches as Roulon triggered his walkie twice to indicate an affirmative.

Alonzo pulled to the curb and a minute later my old rust
-
spotted '96 Chrysler squad car pulled up behind us and parked. As Roulon got out, I could see that he was already in uniform.

He opened the trunk and was pulling our war bags out as we joined him. He handed Horace and me our duffels. "You two can take turns changing in the back of the patrol car."

I
opened the back door of Car Thirteen. As I was doing this, Horaco leaned in close and whispered, "You and I are about to have some fun, asshole."

As I was finishing putting on my uniform, I had a decision to make over which belt to wear. If Agent Love could track me using the Haven Park PD device, it might give me a slight advantage because the little pen was only a satellite transmitter and probably not too accurate as a GPS. Alonzo knew where I was anyway so I strung my civilian belt through my uniform, then grabbed an extra pair of black socks from my duffel, shoved them into my pocket and got out.

After Horace and I were in harness, Alonzo reached into his pocket and handed me the murder gun. He had put it in a police evidence bag to keep our prints off it. I looked through the cellophane at the blue steel Covert Carry automatic with six in the clip. There was a smooth spot above the trigger where the serial numbers had been filed. Your basic throwdown gun.

"What about the cartridges? You wipe the brass?" I asked.

"We're not idiots, Scully," Alonzo said. "After you shoot both of 'em, wipe the gun clean, then put it in the bitch's hand. Fire it once so she tests positive when CSI does the gunshot residue test, then call this number." Alonzo handed me a slip of paper. 'The guy on that phone will report gunshots to 911 in Spanish. Ill tell dispatch I'm passing the apartment on my way home and will cover the front. Don't screw it up."

"Don't worry," I told him.

I took off walking, with Velario on my heels, never more than a foot behind. He was so close that I could feel his hot breath on my ear.

In less than two minutes, one of us would be going on alone.

Chapter
42

My uniform shirt was beginning to stick to my back as w e neared the four-story Garden Apartments. The building loomed ahead 011 the opposite corner like a big stucco shoe box. It was after midnight, and most of the lights w ere off inside.
I
paused in a recessed doorway 011 the corner to look the place over before crossing the street.

"What're you waiting for?" Horace prodded.

"You wanta just stroll up the trout walk and start knocking on doors? That's your plan? We're here to clip this gu
y.
It might be better if we're not seen."

"It's late. They're all fucking illegals. They won't mess with us. Nobody wants to risk getting deported. We need to check the mailboxes, see which apartment lie's in. How the fuck else will we find his room?"

I didn't answer and stepped off the curb. I crossed Wilcox and started up the street heading along the west side of the apartment building.
I
found an alley that ran perpendicular and turned left.

It took two more minutes to get to the rear of the apartment complex, where
I
saw an eight-foot-high wooden fence with an unlocked back gate. I swung it open and we walked into a small backyard area. Four wooden planter boxes containing water
-
starved citrus trees supplied the meager courtyard landscaping. We crossed that weed-choked space, staying next to the apartment wall so we wouldn't be seen by any residents who might be sitting on their narrow balconies. Then we went through a large door into the main building.

Once we got to the lobby elevator,
I
saw a sign Scotch-taped to the metal doors that said:

Utiliza LA ESCALERA.

Out of Service.

I bypassed the main staircase, preferring to use the fire stairs. Then
I
descended into the subterranean parking garage.

"The fuck you going?" Horace growled as he lumbered along behind me. "Whatta we doin' in the damn garage?"

I went clown one more flight until we reached a large open parking level that contained at least fifty cars. Most of them were old and in pretty bad shape.

"Ain't gonna find him down here," Horace complained. " 'Less he's bangin' his bitch in the backseat."

I
found Rocky's empty Mercedes parked in a stall marked 456.

"Apartment four-fifty-six," I told him. "Happy now?"

He wasn't happy. He didn't like being out-thought.

We headed back into the stairwell and started up. If I was going to unload Velario, now was the time.

For the last five minutes, I'd been coming up with and discarding different ways to go about it. He had a reputation as a barroom brawler and was supposed to be eat-quick. Since he didn't trust me, he was being careful to always walk a few feet to the left and behind, staying in my blind spot.

As we reentered the staircase, I heard the creak of leather as he unholstered his sidearm. Then I heard his aluminum street baton coming out of its metal belt ring. I had an ugly image of that murderous Neanderthal trailing behind me with a .38 in one hand and an eighteen-inch aluminum bat in the other.

I stopped on the third-floor landing and reached for the murder weapon, pulling the street-clean nine-millimeter Para automatic out of the cellophane bag.

"What're you doing?" Horace said, backing away, raising the nose of his .38 to the vicinity of my groin. His baton was belt-high at the read
y.

I'm checking the gun," I said. "Don't want a misfire." I motioned toward his .38. "And stop pointing that at me."

Horace ignored the request and instead took another step back, giving himself a better range of motion in case I tried anything.

I went through an elaborate weapons check on the Para. I dropped the clip, checked the loads, and jammed it back up into the handle. I carefully slipped the safety forward to the on position. When I finished I looked over at Horace, who was standing there like a video game assassin --shaved head, weapons in both hands, ready to spill some sauce.

"Safety's broken," I said, and pointed the gun at the concrete wall, pulling the trigger helplessly. The hammer wouldn't move.

"Bullshit," Horace said.

"You try it, then."
I
handed Velario the Para. This caused him a logistics problem because he had the metal baton in one hand and his police 38 in the other. He had to holster something. He finally slid the metal baton back into his belt ring and he took the automatic from me. Once he was holding it, he seemed to drop his guard slightly, because he now had all the unholstered weapons and, except for my police-issue sidearm in its flapped holster, which would be hard to draw quickly, he thought I was momentarily defenseless.

Me lowered his own weapon and glared clown at the little palm
-
sized automatic, quickly discovering the problem. "There's nothing wrong with the safety, dummy. You just gotta push it clown."

As he said this, my right hand snaked into my back pocket. Horace was still looking clown at the Para as I yanked the leather sap out and made a mighty swing-for-the-fences pivot toward him with the sap at full arm extension. Two pounds of encased lead whistled through the air and hit him square in the teeth. Little pieces of chipped enamel flew like broken pottery. I lis giant head snapped back and hit the concrete wall. He dropped the street gun and barely managed to hang on to his .38. It dangled precariously from his fingers, momentarily forgotten.

I took one step forward, gave him a backward shot to the temple using my elbow. As soon as that landed, I stomped on his right foot to hold him in place and threw a hard left cross followed by a vicious uppercut with the sap. It was a great three-punch combination, but despite all this, the big ex-linebacker didn't go down. He was stunned, but still standing, his gun hanging loosely from his fingertips. I swatted it away. It clattered to the ground, bouncing clown two steps.

He looked up at me with dull eyes, then grabbed feebly for the sap. I let go of it and he came away with the two-pound lead weight in his hand. Then he tried to get his arm back to swing it, but by now he was moving at half speed. I finished him off with a double left jab over a chopping right. I landed all three perfectly and he slammed back against the wall and started to slide down with a puzzled look on his face. His expression seemed to say, But I never lose one of these.

"We having fun yet?" I asked, then I kicked him in the head. But one eye stayed open, staring. He was slumped over. What's this guy using for a skull? I thought. Forty-gauge iron plate?

I snatched the handcuffs off his belt and cuffed both his wrists through the metal handrail in the stairwell. Then I grabbed the extra pair of socks I'd taken from my duffel earlier and stuffed them into his mouth. He was bleeding from four places on his head and four of his teeth were gone. The rest were shattered. I picked up both guns and turned off his shoulder rover. I was just getting ready to go when I glanced down and saw him staring up at me through one open bloodshot eye. I'd given him the best I had and he was still not out.

"I gotta hand it to you, Horace. I'm impressed."

I turned and left him there.

Chapter
43

I exited the stairwell on the fourth floor and glanced out a window that overlooked the street. No white Kscaladc. No federal backup.

Apartment 456 was in the middle of the top-floor corridor on the courtyard side of the building. I carefully tried the doorknob. Locked.

It had a solid wood core so
I
didn't think I could kick it in.

I stood in the hallway looking for a likely hide-a-key spot. I checked over the doorjamb. Dust bunnies and spiders. No potted plants or wall art.
I
checked the fire-extinguisher box down the hall. Nada.

I
certainly didn't want to climb up to the roof and try to rappel down onto the balcony like some character in a Bruce Lee movie.

It felt too much like comedy.

I also knew that if Alonzo didn't get the 911 call soon, he and Roulon Green would co
me
looking. With the elevators broken
,
they'd probably also use the less-traveled fire stairs and would find Horace.
I
had used up too much valuable time already and knew
I
couldn't stand around scratching my head.

T
he damned roof gag boiled down to my only decent choice. I returned to the stairwell and looked down one flight at Velario, who was still cuffed to the railing with my socks in his mouth. His left eye was now swollen completely shut, but the other one was glaring up at me with murderous hatred.